Freud Would be Proud
by Zomb13cat
Summary: So, Dean has an oral fixation. And Sam… Sam's taste is addictive.


A.N.1: So I have this headcanon that Dean has an oral fixation (it's there in the first few seasons if you look for it) and it's been an itch in the back of my mind that I just had to alleviate so this popped out.

#2: This is pure porn guys. Porn that's never been within 1000 yards of anything remotely resembling a plot. It's horrible and I apologize. I have no excuse other than… Yeah I got nothin'.

Back in the day Dean 'dated'- in the loosest sense of the word- a psychology major. A pretty little thing with long brown hair and sparkling eyes that spent _way _too much time _talking_ and repeatedly tried to convince him that he suffered from an oedipal complex –which no, just no- and that he was overly fixated with his younger brother- and okay, she had a point there. She constantly pointed out and over analyzed every single one of Dean's little habits; why he drank what he did, the clothes he wore, the music he listened to, his relationship with food, why he chewed on pens, or why he would take longer than what she deemed appropriate with a utensil in his mouth –like a guy couldn't enjoy the last remnants of his pie without it meaning he had some sort of deep-seeded psychological issue. Needless to say, things didn't work out. What _did_ work out however was that she helped him come to realize that he has a pretty _major_ oral fixation.

So, Dean has an oral fixation. And Sam… Sam's taste is addictive. So it comes to reason that; despite having Sam bound, blindfolded, and laid out in front of him like its Christmas, fourth of July, _and_ his birthday all rolled into one; all Dean can focus on is Sam's hard, throbbing cock, all flushed red and leaking precome like it's going out of style. It's enough to make Dean's mouth water.

Dean makes his way to the bed, relishes in the way Sam's body trembles when he feels the mattress dip under their combined weight. He fights the instinct to just take Sam in his mouth, knowing that half the payout is in the wait. In the tease. In having Sam writhing and begging underneath him because of the dizzying _want. _In prolonging this until they're _both _so hard and _aching_ for release that every sensation in magnified tenfold.

So he backs up a bit, takes one long look at his brother's taut toned body and those _sinfully_ long legs of his, and lets a plan formulate in the back of his brain. A check-list of all those delightful –_filthy-_ things he wants to –and _will_- do to his little brother.

Dean runs a careful hand over those mile-long legs. Kisses at the bony ankle and strums his fingers along the sweet curve of Sam's calves. He runs a stubbled cheek over the thin, sensitive skin of the underside of Sam's knee and watches as the skin flushes with the friction. Sam gasps, low and vulnerable, when Dean sinks his teeth in the strong muscle of his thigh. He feels the soft skin against his tongue, sucks and worries at it enough to leave a deep, red mark that'll darken and attempt to fade away with time. But that's okay, because that'll just give Dean an excuse to revisit it, and leave new ones in its wake.

He pushes Sam's knees up, hooks them over his shoulder so he has enough space, and kisses the pale crease where thigh meets body, scrapes lightly at it with his teeth and grins wickedly at Sam's broken whimper. Dean pulls the cheeks of Sam's ass apart. Sam arches off of the bed with a muffled "oh fuck" as Dean flattens his tongue against the tight, clenched flesh and sucks. It's a luscious, clean tang; It's Salt and sweat and _Sam; _Musky and intoxicating, each swipe of his tongue sending ripples of heat pulsing down to Dean's cock. He licks a long, broad stripe from Sam's quivering, puckered hole all the way to the bottom of his balls and back again, pausing to nip at the perineum between each pass. He mouths at Sam's balls, sucks one into his mouth and then the next, wraps a hand around Sam's straining length and rubs a calloused thumb over the sensitive patch of nerves just underneath the head. Sam groans, "oh God-Dean" and it's those pretty little sounds that get to Dean. Amp him up and make his already tight skin shrink down a size.

"You like that?" Dean let's go with a loud, lewd slurp. He knows what it does to Sam. Knows that every other sense is magnified because of the loss of sight, hearing especially. He focuses his attention on feasibly the prettiest cock he's ever seen –not that there have been many- and decides that there's really only so much a guy can take.

He takes the head of his little brother's dick without much pause and sucks hard, tongues at the slit, savoring the bittersweet precome and coaxing out more in sharp bursts. God he's loved this from day one; the feel and heat and weight of Sam's cock on his tongue; the pulse of blood underneath the skin, molten heat that almost burns; and that almost painful stretch of his lips, skin so tight it feels like its about to split. Dean could do this forever. Sam's hips jerk desperately upwards and Dean has to grip them tightly, presses them down with enough force to leave pale finger marks just above the bone. Dean secretly hopes that they'll bruise an evident reminder of who Sam –and his dick- belongs to.

He releases Sam with a _pop_. Smirks impishly as Sam keens and struggles uselessly against his bound wrists, expertly tied to the headboard.

"Fuck Dean, quit teasin'" Sam cries out in frustration as Dean licks up the underside of his prick, up along the vein. He curls his tongue in and around the head before taking him half way and sticking a couple of fingers in his mouth along for the ride. His mouth feels stretched impossibly wide as spit and precome dribble out over his lips and fingers and down Sam's shaft. He pulls the digits out with an obscene slurp, the noise doing just as much for him as it does for Sam.

Dean runs his knuckles, gentle but firm, down the sensitive patch of nerves just below Sam's balls. He runs a saliva soaked finger down to Sam's tight, clenched hole, draws teasing, wet patterns around the furled skin and is rewarded by another spurt of precome in his already full mouth. Sam curses as Dean barely presses in and pulls out, stops sucking but keeps him in his mouth. "No-Dean-please" Sam mewls arching up and pushing down, trying to magnify one sensation but not wanting to lose the other.

"What Sammy? What do ya want?" Dean gives Sam's cock one quick, dirty lick like it's a lollypop. "Tell me."

"Oh God-_please -_Fuck." And ain't that the _best_ thing ever? Dean smirks. To have his normally smart-mouthed, bitchy little brother at a loss for words just because of Dean's mouth and fingers.

"_Say it_ Sam. I can't help you unless you tell me what'chu want." Dean's own voice is coming out a little huskier than usual, and he knows there's only so much he can prolong this.

"Fuck. I w-want you to suck my cock." Sam's face and chest are flushed red both from lust and embarrassment. "Your fingers. _Please."_

"My fingers where?" Dean croaks out fighting to keep control.

"_In my ass_."

"Fuck you're sexy." Dean groans sandpaper rough at the way Sam's words make his body feel too big for his skin. Sam yelps as Dean swallows him down and simultaneously shoves his finger all the way down to the knuckle finding that sweet spot on the first try. Dean pushes in and out of Sam, feeling the tight ring of muscle stretch and contract as he adds a second finger. Sam thrusts shallowly, hitting the back of his throat and Dean swallows down around the head, relaxes and constricts his muscles until his eyes water and lungs burn from the lack of air. He backs up a bit, hums over the head, strokes relentlessly over that delightful bundle of nerves with each unerring thrust, uses his free hand to jack at Sam's shaft. Dean listens intently as Sam's pained whimpers turn into a chorus of "yespleasegodfuckyes" and feels as his balls begin to draw up and his body tenses. It doesn't take long after that, not when Sam's so worked up and Dean know his body so well, for Sam to come, ass clamping down against Dean's fingers. Dean pulls back enough for it to land on his tongue, taste every single pulsing spurt of Sam's release. He greedily swallows every single bittersweet drop, tongues the slit clean.

Dean clambers on top of Sam and pulls off the blindfold, kisses him and makes him taste himself. He straddles Sam's chest and stares down. Sam's boneless and fucked out, eyes glazed over and mouth half open, and Dean's harder than he's ever been. Dean palms himself, strokes quick and determined with a subtle twist of the wrist. He comes like a shot, spine melting a coming out in long thick ropes, painting Sam with his searing, hot release. And _that_ is the best thing _ever:_ Sam beneath him pliant and wrecked, chest and face covered in Dean's come. It's enough to make Dean's spent cock twitch in a hopeless effort. He should untie Sam now; they're both too exhausted to really do anything anymore. But it's too pretty a picture to deface, like drawing a mustache on the Mona Lisa. Besides, Dean's sure he can will himself enough energy for another round.


End file.
